


Touch of Summer in His Gaze

by knightship



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fae & Fairies, Gen, Magic Revealed, Merlin as a fae, Merlin's father as a fae
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-15
Updated: 2013-04-15
Packaged: 2017-12-08 14:28:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/762386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knightship/pseuds/knightship
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur always <i>knew</i> that scarf was important.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch of Summer in His Gaze

**Author's Note:**

> A fic I wrote back in 2011, originally posted here on my livejournal account. Inspired by the Wizardology book, which says that Merlin was half-fae and that he carried a faerie flag to call his father with.

The sword just barely gets past his defense, the blade skittering down the length of his own and then plunging through his stomach in a line of fire. He goes down involuntarily, and as his vision wavers, going too colorful with pain, he hears Merlin shouting, and suddenly warmth splatters over him. His opponent is a stain of crimson across his face and the grass now. His muscles clench in a way he knows they mustn't, holding the steel in, and as he curls around himself and tries to stop the watering in his eyes Merlin is screaming over him, hands moving ineffectually.

Arthur wants to yell at him to stop, that his nonsense words aren't helping the pain that's radiating in a spike out from his stomach, immobilizing his limbs. That's sort of useful, because when Merlin takes the sword by the hilt and wrenches it out, he can't protest. His vision grays and wobbles and then he realizes he's being dragged, his arm like a lead weight around Merlin's shoulder. His friend is quietly talking to him, his voice bobbing shakily,

"It's okay, Arthur, it's alright, I'm going to save you, don't worry," he babbles, tears sliding down his face, and then a jolt of pain washes him under the tide of consciousness.

He wakes in soft grasses, with the rush of water near his hand. He thinks briefly that he must be dead, but the pain in his stomach is a wrenching pulse that throbs with each shallow breath. Merlin is shuddering in the grass next to him, fumbling with the scarf at his neck, his face turned up. Stars are breaching through the twilight, and Arthur struggles with his tongue, trying to raise his hand.

"Shhh," Merlin says softly, pressing his fingers to Arthur's lips. Arthur is both annoyed and amused by this gesture, and would probably make a comment about it if he could. Merlin stands, and then begins waving the scarf over his head, speaking to himself,

"Wave the flag outdoors, under the stars, with a source of running water nearby," and he repeats this to himself over and over, the edge of desperation curling his shoulders and his voice as he continues to wave it over his head.

And then there's the quiet call of a bird, and Merlin cups his hand over his mouth and mimics the noise. It's a weird, impossible call, like no bird he's ever heard. It's ethereal and eerie, and then a man breaches the grasses, staring at Merlin with golden eyes that Arthur knows from somewhere.

They talk to each other in a rush of those nonsense words, Merlin gesturing to Arthur with something like heartbreak crossing his face. The man kneels next to Arthur, and then he can blearily make out the ultra-sharp planes of his face, the surreal beauty of him, his fair hair and fine features, and he manages to get his hands under him and start to push his body away with a slight whine of terror. His father has warned him of the Fair Folk, their alien beauty, and their fascination with mortals, particularly royalty. The man smirks with the teeth of a dog, all sharp, shining canines and shredding edges. Merlin pushes his shoulders down gently, muttering to the man,

"Please, just heal him. I'm not yet strong enough." The man gazes at Merlin with something like exasperation and then holds his hand over Arthur's stomach. A horrid feeling of crawling, squirming skin and a cry of slight pain later, he can feel his guts have mended, his skin smoothed, the pain fading fast. He sits up carefully, touching the rough scar where there was once a gaping wound. He looks up at the man, then at Merlin, with wonder.

"You know that a wish shall cost you, Emrys," the man intones, his voice sharp, witty and quick, but with the same sort of soft lilt to it that Merlin's has. The manservant's face clenches with anger, and he busies himself checking that Arthur is alright. He's actually stunned beyond belief, his mouth gaping open. The man smiles with a wickedness that makes Arthur's newly patched stomach crawl.

"Perhaps I shall take your prince, hm? I am sure he shall like the elderberries your mother was so fond of," he says softly, tracing an elegant, spindly finger across Arthur's bottom lip. Something dark and nervous slips down his spine, and he feels color rise to his face. The man smirks, but Merlin shouts something in a horrid roar that washes over them both. The man looks up sharply, and Merlin is glowing, his eyes feral and an aura of murder clinging to his skin. The man's mouth curls with satisfaction.

"If not that, then you know my price." The man rises, taking Merlin's chin and turning it from side to side. Merlin's skin gains the same unnatural glimmer that his has, golden magic burning across his skin like paper curls from a flame. He glimpses hollowed cheeks and slanted eyes, the tip of a pointed ear before Merlin slaps his hand away, and the magic retreats slowly.

"Stop. Not in front of him," Merlin murmurs, and the man laughs.

"My son, you must learn to accept your nature. Hiding it from your precious prince will not make it easier to ignore. Surely you've felt the stirrings of summer rising in your blood?" Merlin glances at him, a foreign, savage emotion passing over his features. Deeper than the dark feeling inspired by the man, a curl of fierce longing gathers in his stomach and then lower, and he feels his muscles relax for something that doesn't come when Merlin looks sharply back at the fey man.

"I've felt it. But if I'm to fill your price, I can kill two birds with one stone. I will spend the summer in your court, father. Now go. You're no longer welcome in the mortal realms." The man snorts, then leans forward and kisses Merlin delicately on the cheek, twining his fingers in Merlin's curly hair.

"Remember your word, Emrys, my son." And then with one last twinkling look at Arthur, the man steps through the grass and is gone.

Arthur lets out a shallow, whistling sigh and flops back into the grass. Merlin sits carefully next to him, a slight touch on his hair making him open his eyes briefly.

"That was insane," Arthur murmurs. His heart is thudding in his throat, adrenaline slowly loosing it's effect.

"Yeah, it was," Merlin murmurs. He glances up to see the other boy concentrating on his fingers, which weave stalks of grass with a skill he's seen seldom elsewhere. Soon an intricate circlet sits in his hands, and he drops it onto Arthur's head with a sigh. His mouth twists uncertainly for a moment.

"Please don't tell anyone how I saved you," he says finally. A silent plea rests in his eyes, and Arthur smiles at him softly.

"As long as you don't tell anyone I was outmatched with the sword." Merlin laughs, and he can see it now, in the lingering touch of darkness- the shadow of something magical in Merlin's face, something very inhuman.

"What does going to his court for the summer entail?" he asks, and Merlin sobers. He gets to his feet in one quick, clumsy motion, and then he hauls Arthur to his feet. Arthur adjusts the little crown, intent on wearing it back to Camelot, even if he looks like a dolt.

"Being bewitched for an entire season. Don't look at me like that," he says at Arthur's surprised and then angry expression, "I had no choice. And it's not all bad. There's drink and dancing and tournaments and things. The most that will happen is that I'll sleep for a while, when I get back. And it doesn't have to be right away. Just as long as I do it before I die." Arthur stares at him, nearly uncomprehending.

"You had a choice," he says, staring at his hands. Merlin snorts, leading him back through the field through a path of crushed grasses.

"Not really. Love doesn't leave you many choices." He pauses, and Arthur knows his tongue has slipped from the way he tenses. Arthur picks up the scarf from where it's fallen to the bank of the little stream, and then stuffs it into Merlin's slack hand, holding it there with his fingers clasped around Merlin's.

"No, I suppose it doesn't," he says lightly, and Merlin's smile puts the touch of summer into his gaze.


End file.
